


Not all who wander are lost (but some are)

by Thorinsmut



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Thorin Has No Sense Of Direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Thorin get lost twice in the Shire?<br/>Why was he looking to the side when the door was opened?<br/>Read on to find out! </p><p>Written for the prompt: how about something about how Thorin got lost in the Shire twice before finding Bilbo’s house? I imagine he scared and insulted some poor Hobbits by knocking on their doors and asking grumpily if they are burglars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not all who wander are lost (but some are)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/40642416935/not-all-who-wander-are-lost-but-some-are

Thorin tromped down the little road, his brow furrowed in frustration. The condescending tone the others at the meeting had taken in dismissing his call for help in this quest grated on him… it had taken all his self-control not to strike Dain’s representative, who was nothing like Thorin’s cousin Dain, when the Dwarf had _sniffed_ at him.  
“This _‘quest’_ is yours and yours alone.” the representative had spoken down at him, as though Thorin were a petulant child, as though the failure of the taking back of Erebor were already written… as though it was not his own failure to help that might mean it’s doom.  
Still… he had Gandalf on his side, and if the wizard thought it could be done… and he had his Company, his twelve loyal companions who had already pledged to the quest.  
And Gandalf wanted to bring a Halfling. That was baffling… but the wizard had been adamant. All the Halflings Thorin had ever met were silly, fat, lazy things… but he supposed it was possible there were one or two who knew their way around a blade… and it was true that they were light on their feet and clever with their hands… it might be possible that there were fine burglars among them…  
Thorin stopped, perplexed. The road forked, here, and was labeled with a well-kept signpost that he could easily read in the fading daylight.  
Neither one went where he wanted to go.  
He growled under his breath in frustration and turned around. He must have missed his turn, somewhere. He tromped back down the little road, determined not to miss the road a second time… his own fault, really, for having been too occupied with his own thoughts.  
Thorin glared at the countryside as he walked… ridiculous little green hills with silly houses built into them… and the lazy, contented creatures who lived in them and wandered about unarmed as though there were no such thing as orcs or wargs or dragons in the world…  
The light of day was nearly gone when he stopped again, staring hard at the bridge in front of him. His directions clearly said that his turn was on _this_ side of the bridge.  
Once again, he had missed his turn. _  
How_ had he missed his turn?  
With a quiet curse, he turned back around again and began walking, quicker this time.  
His cursing was not so quiet when, with darkness having fully fallen, he came to the fork in the road again.  
He turned around again, and now his steps had definitely graduated from tromping to full stomping, his face was like a thunderstorm.  
“What are you looking for?” a voice cut into his angry introspection. He glared toward the speaker.  
She was a Hobbit lass, leaning against her front fence, the long stem of a delicately curved pipe in her teeth. She was backlit with the lamp in the front of her house, so he could see very little of her other than that she had masses of curly hair.  
“Nothing.” He growled at her, his mood foul.  
“Oh…” She blew out a cloud of smoke, gestured up and down the road with the stem of her pipe, “Because it looked like you were stomping up and down the road getting more and more angry instead of just asking for directions.”  
“I…” Thorin stopped himself from spitting out something harsh, controlled himself… “I am looking for a house called ‘Bag End’ on a place called ‘The Hill’, but I cannot find the turn… and I am very late for dinner with my Company.”  
She made a small noise of sympathy, “That’s terrible! You wait right there…” she put her pipe on the fence and darted into the house, and Thorin waited curiously. She returned momentarily, slinging a cloak around her shoulders and letting herself out her front gate, she picked her pipe back up as she handed him something.  
“Here, our Mum makes the best scones…” Thorin accepted the offering, it was still warm, and dripping with butter. He took a bite, and had to agree that the Hobbit lass’s mother did make a very good scone.  
“Come on, it’s an easy turn to miss in the dark, if you don’t know it.” She was saying, walking along, and he followed beside her.  
“My name’s Tansy, if you were wondering…” she took a long draw on her pipe and then tried to blow a smoke ring… but it turned out not very ringlike and she blew the rest of her mouthful of smoke at it, erasing it.  
“Thorin.” Thorin introduced himself, “And my gratitude for the scone… and the directions.”  
“Oh, not a problem at all.” She laughed, “I missed dinner once, it was _terrible_ , and I like walking at night… it’s peaceful… Thorin, huh? Thorin. I like it! It’s got a ring to it.”  
“…thank you?” He was not quite sure how to respond, he’d never had his _name_ complemented before.  
“…and here’s the turn!” Tansy said, cheerfully, pointing with the stem of her pipe at a footpath between two bushes.  
“This tiny lane?” he asked, incredulously.  
“Yeah.” She agreed, “It meets with the main road in about a quarter mile, then follow that along for about another mile or so and you’ll be at the Hill… Bag End is at the top! It’s easier to find from the other direction, I think.”  
“My thanks, once again.” he said, politely, his mood much better for a little food and knowing where he was going.  
“Any time, any time.” she said, patting him on the arm affectionately, “Just ask for directions and explain you’re late for dinner if you get lost again.”  
“I will keep that in mind.” He said, and she turned, ambling back toward home, humming some sort of Hobbit nonsense-song.  
He took the footpath.

Thorin stood at the junction of the footpath and the main road, looking both directions. He was sure that, in the daylight, he would be able to _see_ which way the cursed Hill was… but in the dark…  
He rubbed his forehead, sighing heavily, the good mood from the scone disappearing entirely. He chose left at random and trudged down the road… he would know, in about a mile, if he had chosen the right direction.  
Sooner than he would have expected, he came upon a hill… but was it the right one? It hadn’t been a mile yet, but then again, how sure could he be of the Hobbit lass’s directions?  
He made his way along the path to the top, where there was one of these ridiculous Hobbit holes. He couldn’t see Gandalf’s mark on the door… but would he be able to see a mark in the dark?  
He knocked on the door.  
It was answered by a dour-face Hobbit who did not seem at all to expect him… and there was no sight or sound of Dwarves or Gandalf…  
“Excuse me.” He said, trying to be polite, “Is this Bag End?”  
The Hobbit huffed indignantly, “I should think not!”  
“My apologies.” He said, “I seem to have lost my way in the dark and I am very late for dinner there.”  
The Hobbit’s face softened, but only slightly, “Go on down the main road until you reach The Hill, Bag End is at the top.” He gestured back the way Thorin had come from, and closed the door in his face.  
Thorin worked his way back down the hill (that was not The Hill) and stomped back down the main road.  
It was definitely further than a mile, and Thorin was beginning to be worried he had somehow missed a turn again, when he finally saw The Hill… and his heart sank.  
It was _packed_ with Hobbit holes, the light from their little round windows winking from all over the entire thing. How was he to find the right one?  
He found the path that lead up the hill, winding it’s lazy way back and forth. He wondered if the Company would have thought to save any food for him, and sighed. There was really no chance. Oh, Dori or Balin might have thought of it… but with the rest there, he doubted there would be much of anything left for him.  
He tripped over something in the path that he hadn’t seen in the dark. He kicked it, whatever it was, it clanged loudly with his steel toe-caps.  
“Curse Gandalf and curse his Halfling burglar!” Thorin spat.  
There were several gasps in the dark, and then the sound of Hobbit doors quietly closing…  
He hadn’t known there was anyone outside with him, they were such quiet creatures… hmm… if there was one who knew weapon-craft, it might be a fine burglar…  
He had finally reached what he suspected was the top of The Hill, he couldn’t see any houses higher… there was a row of three houses, all on the same level… and of course he had no way to tell of any of them had a mark.  
He listened, but could not hear any sound of Dwarven merriment in any of the houses. Sighing, he chose a door at random and knocked on it.  
A very old looking Hobbit matron opened it, looking him up and down, unimpressed.  
“Is this Bag End?” he asked, knowing it must not be.  
“No.” she said, “That’s on the top of The Hill… but what would you like with Mr. Baggins? He’s a respectable lad, very much a Baggins, not taken after his Took mother at all, good on him… odd ones, the Tooks, going off on _adventures_ … nasty things. No. Not our Mr. Baggins. He’ll be sending you on your way with a word in your ear, I’ll tell you…” She might have continued forever, but Thorin broke in.  
“Yes. I’m sure he is very respectable… but I am late for dinner and I cannot seem to find my way any higher on the Hill.”  
She gasped in sympathy, “Late for your _dinner_! Oh, the path curls around behind the next house, then through the trees and you can’t miss Bag End.” she gestured the directions as she said them, and Thorin thanked her and departed before she could talk at him any more.  
The path did indeed curl behind the next house, and then go through some trees, and then it curled some more up the hill, and he was beginning to think the old Hobbit had been sending him the wrong way when he saw the lights of a Hobbit hole, and shining on the door Gandalf’s mark.  
He knocked on the door… wondering if this was truly the house of a fine burglar. The old Hobbit had seemed to think that Mr. Baggins was respectable, and the appearance of the house seemed to suggest that. There were even immaculate flower boxes out in the front… not a very burglarous thing, a flower box…  
He was still looking at the flower boxes when the door was opened, and the wizard was looking down at him.  
“Gandalf.” he said in relief, stepping in through the round door, “I thought you said this place would be easy to find…”


End file.
